


error

by ayselz



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Dystopia, Multi, also will i even finish this lol, multi-ship and shit, the dystopia/royalty AU no one needs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-02-06 07:16:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12812424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayselz/pseuds/ayselz
Summary: Raīņa Lūcija's smile is both a blessing, and a curse—everyone at its receiving end is bound to be smitten.Siri only wants to have a real friend.Chesa's thoughts are drowning her.Julia wishes to be apart from the water.Cristeta's days of glory are about to be over.In a world where normalcy is abnormal, a ragtag band of teenagers speaking in weird accents are trying to take the monarchy apart, and a bloody tournament for the possession of the Crown is about to take place, does being an Heir on an Heiress really matter, in the grander scheme of things?[ Set in the far, far future of an alternate universe. Hetalia. Canon characters included, but you are about to be introduced to the wonderful side of Nyotalia, and 2Ptalia. Character tags will be added as they are introduced in the story. ]





	1. prologue

Tulle of the finest quality, sequins sewn carefully in intricate patterns, fabric which glimmered when hit by the light, and lilting music from only the best orchestra in the Kingdom as accompaniment. This was how teleboxes entertained people on weekend nights. Which left Emil no choice. It's this overdone ballet show featuring the Heiresses of the Court, or old black and white movies in a language which sounded more like guttural groaning (Alexi once pointed out that it was German) instead of speaking. He's not an idiot; of course he would choose the lesser evil.

“Doing research on the girls, I see,” Mathias' jovial voice came from behind him. Emil didn't tear his gaze away from the telebox, and he felt the space beside him get occupied by the older man. “Learn anything new?” Mathias pressed on. This was one of the guy's usual, playful quips, as there was really no essential information to be learned from watching the ballet show. It was just tulle, twirling, and short interview clips on how hard it was, wearing the tulle and doing the twirling. 

“As if there's ever anything new,” he grumbled in reply. He felt Mathias chuckle, and as expected, his hand reached up to ruffle Emil's silver-white hair. As if on cue, he slapped the offending hand away, and scooted towards the edge of the couch. “I told you not to touch my hair!”

Mathias only chuckled more. “Aw, Icey—” Emil flinched at the nickname, “—never let me ruffle your hair nowadays! You used to let me do that when we were younger,” he pouted.

Emil's cheeks flamed with embarrassment. “Shut up, I never let you do anything—” The telebox's feed changed; from an aerial shot of two twirling Heiresses in the Cīrulis garden, it was now a close-up shot of an Heiress, her thick, brown hair pulled up into a neat bun. Even sweaty, she looked sophisticated.

Mathias let out a low whistle. “I bet the girl's sweat tastes like sweetened water.” His obnoxious laughter followed. “Heard she's the sweetest of them, after all. High time they finally had her speak on air, huh?”

Emil frowned. Intrigued, he planted his elbows on his thighs and leaned forward. Mathias was correct; it was the first time this particular Heiress would be interviewed. According to rumors, she was Raīņa Lūcija, youngest of the Cīrulis siblings. Her ability wasn't really spoken of. Rumors said that only the family and close friends knew. Emil found himself wanting to hear what she would be saying.

“Turns out watching the stupid glitter show is actually resourceful, huh.” Mathias nudged him on the shoulder. Emil refused to give in to the temptation and punch the lights out of him.

He turned the telebox's volume higher. “...because Meister Clara was never satisfied of my skills,” the brunette Heiress was saying, before letting out a dainty chuckle. The sound somehow sickened Emil; even their laughter sounded like it was taught to them. But it was, admittedly, a pretty sight. “This is the first time I am to be interviewed, yes, and I hope I will be able to provide satisfying answers to your questions.” She then turned towards the camera—the audience—and smiled. “Everyone, I am Raīņa Lūcija Cīrulis. They call me Raina.”

The two were struck by a strange surge of awe. “Holy fucking shit,” Mathias swore, sounding a little breathless. “That's pretty. What the fuck. Like weirdly pretty. Fuck, my heart is racing—”

Emil nodded absentmindedly, eyes glued to the screen, watching as Raina answered a few questions about her rigorous training routine. He felt spikes of awe and attraction whenever she smiled, which was strange. He rarely felt like this for anyone. Except for—

A clip showing Raina doing a complicated-looking set of pirouettes was suddenly replaced by a grainy, black and white movie. Mathias let out a string of expletives. Emil shook his head, feeling his thoughts clear. He hadn't even realized that it was muddled the whole time. They both look behind to see Tino holding the remote control.

“It's her ability,” he told them in a sharp, chiding tone. “Positive glamour. Everyone at the receiving end of her smile falls for her.” He frowned at them. “Hers is strong, though, to work even through artificial channels. That's dangerous.”

“But she was pretty...” Mathias was pouting again.

Emil just wordlessly turned his attention back to the telebox, unseeing. So this was why her ability was never exposed prior to this interview. Why rumors only talked about her ordinary beauty and her dazzling smile—in retrospect, Emil thought, this should've been a hint of sorts—but he hadn't expected that her ability was something like this. It was stronger than anticipated. If unchecked, it would be something that would be used on them. And heavens knew how the Court loved crushing those which opposed it.

“It's a problem,” Tino droned on, voicing out what Emil was trying to decide on, “that we should solve as early as now.” He stepped into the room, looking a tiny bit distracted. “That girl, the youngest of the Cīrulis, Raīņa Lūcija, the one who graces the Court with quick wit and and mischievous demeanor. If we are to kill an Heir, we must consider her as a candidate.” It sounded like a rehearsed speech, like something Tino told himself over and over again, but Emil didn't point that out.

‘Maybe read that somewhere,’ he thought. The guy's memory was sharper than most people, anyway, so that could be.

It was Mathias who spoke after the silence which followed. “She's their asset... that smile was damn blinding.” He chuckled, but it sounded forced and humorless. “And, Cīrulis, you say? All the better. They're one of the major players. Losing their darling little Raina will crush their will.” The Cīrulis of the Galante Manor intended to put both Heirs of age under their wing to vie for the Crown.

Tino took the empty space between Mathias and Emil. He turned to the youngest with raised eyebrows. “We are given the mercy of not having her as a Primary, at least. Call the others. There'll be tiny changes in the plan, and we need to make haste.”

Rolling his eyes, Emil got up from the couch. He only had taken a few steps when a thought struck him. He whirled around to frown at Tino. “How did you know about her ability?” he asked, tone a little accusative.

“Seernaq told me,” he answered without missing a beat. “Notice how the things we knew about Raina were only from rumors? Because it's dangerous to let her stay exposed out in the open. You know where irrational desire leads to. So to prevent that, the Cīrulis didn't give her much exposure. It was Raimonds and Rebeka who were shown to the public, and they only showed Raina now because she's an asset if her siblings are to join the Tourney.”

It all clicked into place. “You guys think they'll use Raina as bait so people will support them in the Tourney?” The disgust in his tone was evident, and he was scowling now.

“Well, that makes sense,” Mathias piped up. They both turned to him, looking as if they'd just realized that he was still in the same room. He didn't seem to notice this. “With enough public clamor, they could turn the tide of the Tourney. It's to be broadcasted, right? So if ever Raimonds or Rebeka lose one match and then gets dropped from it, they could just make Raina smile or whatever, and then the public will make its move to put their Heir back on the pedestal.”

“But that isn't our problem, is it? We're supposed to stop the Tourney from happening.”

Tino gestured towards the doorway. “Yes, we're supposed to do that. But we weren't prepared for someone with positive glamour. Go and call them, Emil. We have to plan something to counter this.”


	2. one

_drastic measures, wars stirring_

 

A mid-June afternoon in New Manila meant scattered bouts of rain, and mud-sloshed streets. To say the least, it was to Emil’s chagrin when he was ushered out of the ‘quarters, a supply list pushed onto his hands by a grinning Mathias.

“Why me?” he’d groaned in protest.

Mathias, the cheeky bastard he was, merely shrugged. “Why not? It’s your job. I was supposed to do it, but Tino asked me last minute to go with him somewhere.” Emil had wanted to roundhouse kick him in the groin that moment, but reason won him over, so he accepted the task and went.

Closely-packed apartments abutted the wide main avenue, narrow alleys peeking out from what distance in between them was available. Even in the lazy haze of the afternoon, the alleys were dark and eerie enough; Emil kept himself to the main avenue, far from them, as he knew what kind of folk lurked in that semidarkness. The avenue itself was coarse and worn, decorated with tire tracks and dust. It was the poorer part of town. While the monarchy constantly kept the upper districts pleasing to the eye, the lower ones were only checked once in a few years.

Just another reason to tear the whole system apart, Emil thought to himself. To finally put an end to the discrimination between those born with silver spoons in their mouths and those not.

Voices caught his attention. He pivoted, gaze narrowing at the mouth of the alley he’s just passed. There were two of them. The louder one was of the typical alley brute, graveled and raw, while the other was distinctly softer, sounding even muffled. Emil slowly retraced his steps, ears strained.

Cursing himself silently, as he’d foregone bringing a weapon, he stepped into the alley. Its contrasting darkness was sudden and overwhelming, and he had to blink a few times to let his eyesight adjust. When it finally did, he saw two figures. The taller, bulkier one, pressing the shorter, hooded one against the wall.

The brute’s arms looked like he could crush someone’s windpipe in mere seconds. Emil bit down his tongue. This was not someone he’d expected to take down without even a dagger. Maybe for Berwald or Mathias this brute would be easy, but for Emil?

He chose to duck behind a trash bin. Only to gauge the situation, he promised himself. If the brute did something more than threaten the hooded stranger, he would jump into action.

“You are proving to be more difficult than the others,” the hooded figure said. Closer, Emil could pinpoint that this belonged to a woman, and the inflection even suggested that she was royalty. “I promised you a huge sum, and I will deliver. You only have to bring me to them.”

“Payment first!” the brute growled in reply. Even in the semidarkness, Emil saw his eyes flash with barely-concealed anger.

Yet the hooded woman seemed unshaken. “Resorting to drastic measures is not my nature,” she drawled, a hint of threat creeping onto her tone.

Apparently, the tides have turned.

She brought her hands up. Milky fingers peeked out from under the robe, which further strengthened Emil’s theory that she was royalty, and pushed the hood out of her face. Dark hair framed her pale face, and even in the dimness of the alley, Emil instantly recognized her.

Before he could say anything—voice out a warning to the brute who didn’t know what was coming to him—she smirked. Just a quirk of her lips to the side, but it was sufficient to ensnare the unaware.

“Take the knife out from your pocket, and stab yourself as many times as you can, until you die.”

She stepped back nonchalantly when the brute murmured in assent, and, in a quick motion, drew his knife. Emil didn’t have the time to leap out of hiding and into the scene. His legs were frozen beneath him, and he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the scene.

The brute did as he was told, obediently. It took him only four stabs before his knees gave out, his nearly-lifeless body pitching backward. Blood sputtered out of his mouth, out of his self-inflicted wounds, forming a crimson pool beneath him.

“He even soiled my disguise. The nerve.” Huffing, she took the hooded cloak off. Her face was sprayed on with blood, but she didn’t flinch when she wiped the tiny, red droplets with the fabric.

Her eyes flicked towards Emil’s hiding place. His breath caught. Would she, if she found him, do to him what she did to the brute? Ironically, Emil found himself grudgingly thanking the fact that he’d forgotten his dagger back at the ‘quarters. She’d have to be more creative in coming up with a way to murder him, then.

After what seemed like eternity, she shrugged, possibly dismissing the idea that someone watched her from behind a trash bin. She finished wiping her face, yet vestiges of it, and her indirect hand in murder, remained. Against the pallor of her face, the blood looked like rouge makeup children put on during All Hallows’ Eve.

Emil shuddered, despite himself. He watched as she unceremoniously dumped her cloak onto the brute’s corpse, before walking towards him.

No, not him. Towards the opening of the alley.

Still, panic took over. There was no way she wouldn’t notice him. Should he utilize the element of surprise, and tackle her out of nowhere? Punch her in the gut? But hurting a woman didn’t sit well with Emil’s morals, and, besides, there was also the fact that she was royalty, that he has to consider.

He’d dwelled on the internal conflict for far too long, because once he’d eventually decided that he’d just make a run for it, she’s already standing in front of him. Strangely, the first thing Emil noticed was that she wasn’t wearing a dress similar to what he’d seen in the telebox. She was dressed casually, a long-sleeved shirt tucked into jeans. Her dark hair was loose behind her.

“I knew it. Someone really was spying on me.” So her agenda was not murder on sight, which was a good thing. She gestured towards the cloaked corpse. “Please do not tell anyone, I do not want my family finding out that I was here.”

Her apparent nonchalance about all this perplexed Emil. Keeping his gaze watchful on her, he got to his feet.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“I met him yesterday, at some bar downtown.” His brows shot up; this woman went to New Manila bars? “He was talking grandly about a looming revolution, one which will pull the Court out from its very roots. I was, suffice to say, enamored with his drunken speech, so, I cornered him when he was sent outside by the bar owner for being rowdy.”

She gesticulated little as she spoke, he noted distractedly. “I pressed him to tell me more about the revolution. He said that it would be done by the Circle.” Her dark eyes were shining, like polished onyx, but Emil subconsciously knew that her eyes were actually a deep, liquid brown. Maybe his sudden distractedness was caused by the tiny smile playing on her lips. “And I asked him, ‘When?’ He said that, from what he knew, the Circle would be doing its move on the eve of the Tourney.”

“During the Grand Ball,” Emil breathlessly supplied. All he could see was her face, leaning dangerously close to his, the faint crimson streaks still acutely visible. The scent of blood and murder filled his nostrils, so did a gentle scent of fresh orange blooms. “Raina,” he whispered, saying aloud the name he had just learned last night.

The smile vanished.

A cloud seemed to lift from Emil’s mind, and he became aware of how close she was to him. He stepped backwards, his back meeting the alley wall.

“So you are one of them.” She wasn’t smiling anymore, yet the victory was apparent in Raina’s tone. So this was her danger, the uncanny ability to twist her way into people’s minds and make them give her what she wanted. “I admit it was a failure in judgment when I thought that mindless hulking beast was one of the Circle, and I only realized it now.”

He swallowed, even though his throat felt dry. “What… why are you interested in it?” It was a foolish question, and he knew it as soon as he’d uttered it.

She gawked at him. “Evidently, I am part of the Court. If someone is to die in your hands during that ball, I would like to know beforehand who is responsible.” Her gaze softened. “But I also want to take part in it. My brother and my sister will be risking their lives in that Tourney, to vie for a throne they do not even want, and I want to stop it.”

“You’re willing to murder your kind just to save your siblings?”

Raina glowered, which sent an involuntary shiver down his spine. “That is why I am asking to be taken to the Circle,” she said impatiently, “to ensure that no one will be hurt in whatever  _ you _ are going to do.”

Despite the situation, Emil found himself scoffing at the claim. “Revolution means war, princess. And in wars, people die. You don’t understand the scope of what you’re asking for.”

“And you are willing to murder unaware courtiers just to satisfy your cause?” she threw his question back at him.

“Like what you just did with him?” he barked back.

Her gaze hardened, and she stomped back to the brute. Kicking off the cloak, she pointed at the knife still plunged into his stomach. “He was planning to kill me first, then he would rob me. You are familiar with the concept of self-defense, are you not?”

“It isn’t self-defense when he wasn’t trying to kill you first!”

She seemed to mull that over, then, she shrugged. All grace and nonchalance. “Oh, well, then. You have a point. It is suicide, as he brought his death unto himself.”

Was there a way to counter her twisted sense of logic? Emil found the brief debate exhausting, and he was not one to hold arguments stubbornly until he won—that was more of Seernaq’s domain—so he put his hands palm up in surrender.

“Okay, princess. Whatever you say.”

Raina covered her mouth when she giggled. Protection, he realized off-handedly, as she likely didn’t want to bewitch him yet again with her smile. Who knew she had a caring bone within her, after all? “You are just like my brother Raimonds. That exactly is how he acts whenever we argue.”

Emil knew Raimonds only from episodes shown on the telebox. The oldest of the Cīrulis children, he possessed the same characteristics as Raina; hair the color of tilled earth, eyes a shade lighter. He was also a gifted swordsman, Emil learned from the interviews, his skills punctuated by his ability: inhuman agility.

“ _ He who parried as swiftly as a breeze,”  _ he muttered, quoted one interview he’d seen. It was the weekend, one-hour shows which featured the Primaries, the candidates for the Tourney. He remembered Raimonds looking nothing but dour all throughout the interview, even as the frantic interviewer showered him with compliments. How his demeanor differed from his youngest sister.

Raina nodded once. “He does not show it often, but he is a darling one,” she offered with a playful wink.

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not taking you to the ‘quarters. I’m not risking it.” There was always the possibility that she was a spy. But why would the Court forego discretion and use one of their most powerful cards this early?

She was not a mind reader, but she seemed to understand what he was thinking. Raina wordlessly dug into her jeans’ pocket, fishing out a face mask. The ones from hospitals, he noted mentally, as he watched her put it on.

“The glamour only works when my smile is visible.” Her voice was muffled as she spoke, and her dark eyes glimmered with determination. “When I told you I wanted to stop the Tourney from happening, I meant it.

“Neither Raimonds nor Rebeka wanted the throne. We were content to be part of the Court, to be a respected family, to stay under the radar, and live as peacefully as we are able.” The determination melted into pleading. After all, it was still up to Emil if he would grant her request. “Joining that bloody tournament ensures death for one or both of them. And I do not want that. I love my siblings, and I will protect them as much as I can.”

Emil was just realizing that, no matter how severe he refused her, she would stubbornly find her way. He wondered if this was because of her ability; that she was too used to getting things her way, so she would push on despite blatant rejection.

And, in retrospect, a part of him unhelpfully chimed, the Cīrulis would not endanger their precious youngest just to satisfy the espionage the Court may be employing. If Raina sneaked out of the Galante manor on her own, and travelled to New Manila, all the while risking her life, it was more likely caused by fierce devotion to her siblings and the desire to save their lives, not because she was ordered to do so.

Besides, she gave out the orders. She didn’t receive them.

“Alright,” Emil said slowly. Her face brightened up immediately, and he was grateful for the mask she’d put on. All vestiges of doubt left in him was proven incorrect by this apparent relief on her face. “I’ll take you to ‘quarters. On one condition.”

Her brows knitted. “What is it?”

“We tell them that you  _ murdered  _ someone, and you won’t contest me with your stupid sense of logic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT HAS BEEN SO LONG SINCE I PUT THIS UP. I actually thought I would never write this, but, wow, here were are. The idea for a chapter one popped into my head, and despite the fact that I should finish my other on-going fan fic, We Shadows Have Offended, my ass chose to write this.


End file.
